Call me Simon (SNOWBAZ one-shot)
by voicesinmyfingers
Summary: Simon has only recently admitted his feelings for Baz and they already can't keep their hands off each other! A SNOWBAZ one-shot as an adapted scene from Rainbow Rowell's novel Carry On.
_'I take a big scoop of chestnut stuffing and notice that there's almost nothing on Baz's plate. The platters and boats go around twice, and he just passes them to me- I wonder if he has an eating disorder._

 _I eat enough food for both of us. The food here is even better than at Watford.'  
(_ _Carry On_ _by Rainbow Rowell, page 387)_

SIMON

We retreat up the stairs in silence and I swear I can still feel Mr Grimm's eyes fixed onto the back of my head, so I just keep mine on the back of Baz's.

Baz looks beautiful in a suit.

With those few inches he has on me in addition to his broad shoulders, he's built like a god- like a stunning warrior. Like a vampire, I guess. The dark green velvet of his suit hugs the muscles of his upper arms and I feel oddly warm just from watching his pale hand delicately drift up the banister.

He had slicked his hair back for dinner (I don't know why he does that, he looks so perfect when it's loose and falling around his face), but there's a single dark lock untouched by gel at the nape of his neck that tempts me to that place- I want him there, at his neck. I want him at his arms. I want his hands and I want them on me. I want Baz. I just want Baz.

On the landing, around the corner, hidden from the view of his family down stairs, Baz's hand reaches behind him and fumbles for my own as he continues for his bedroom door. For a second, his face turns slightly so that I only glimpse his profile- he's biting down on his enticing lower lip and his smoky eyes trail behind him in my direction.

And then we're in his room, and he has me pressed against the door that closed behind us.

I just want Baz.

BAZ

Yes, Simon looks unbelievably hot dressed like this but I'm positive he'll look better without the clothes.

I know how strong and excruciating hunger can be. The thirst for blood renders me weak, sometimes past the point of exhaustion where I can feel my sanity progressively diminishing.

But this hunger is far more powerful and dare I say it, almost dangerous. Nothing makes me so weak as Simon Snow. Nothing has ever driven me so insane.

As soon as we're in the privacy of my room, I take no hesitation in driving Snow's body back against the door, my hands pushing against his waist and my lips slamming onto his, eager to capture every one of his escaping breaths.

I think I took him by surprise because I can hear his breath huffing deeply, as if he's already gasping for air. His hands are so soft, so careful- one is on my neck and the other rests lightly on my cheek, trailing up my jawline, behind my ear, fingers curling, intertwining with my hair. A shiver chases up my spine (though it feels more like a tsunami wave hitting me) and an involuntary moan escapes me. I'm not even ashamed- I'm too busy uncontrollably drowning in the wave that is Simon.

"Baz..." It's barely a whisper.

Aleister Crowley, the things this boy does to me.

SIMON

I think I just made Basilton Pitch moan. Jesus Christ, I need him closer. So I tug him into me and our lips continue to move together in perfect unison as if they're singing a well-rehearsed song. Except now Baz is pushing harder and our teeth are almost bumping with the force of it all.

And instantly we're a mess of arms and lips as his hands trail up my torso to remove my jacket, so I do the same to him. And then I yank at his blood red bowtie, provoking another sigh to erupt from his mouth which is glued to mine- the sigh vibrates onto my own tongue and then I can't help but meet it with a sigh of my own.

BAZ

I've never been so hungry in my life; not even when Watford's catacombs were running low on rats and I found myself feeding on insects (which weren't doing much since they don't even have red blood cells). But despite my impeccable self-control, I'm afraid I'm going to hurt him.

Simon Snow makes my willpower irrelevant- non-existent, almost.

I dip my head to catch his upper lip and as our faces move together in this complete chaos, I can't ignore his golden curls when they fall into our space and brush my skin. Even his hair is warm, like the rest of him. He smells like warmth, like comfort. And he tastes like gravy (he ate so much at dinner, it was enough for the both of us, since I barely ate at all).

My intensified vampire hearing picks up on the beat of his heart, ridiculously pacing and I'm surprised he's still conscious. Automatically, I reach for the cross that hangs around his neck so I can wrench it off and throw it away just as we do every time we get this close. But it's not there.

"Crowley, Snow I told you to always wear the cross!" The words strike out an ounce more violently than I intended. But he always does as he pleases and he could never help being such an egocentric bastard. He is the Chosen One after all.

"I... I just... It was in the way..." I wish he wouldn't fucking look at me with those blue eyes. Even in this dimness they appear translucent and suddenly I'm not so mad anymore. The pendant was somewhat of a nuisance, and it burned me to touch it. But I still want my love to be safe.

Simon just stares at me with his wide, sky-light eyes, in apprehension or maybe even fear. I cannot tell. But he's uncertain, and it terrifies me to such a disturbing degree that maybe he's uncertain about us. About _this_. Whatever _this_ is. Hell, he doesn't even know if he's gay.

I wait for the fire in my chest, in my mouth, to dwindle to a settling warmth, but it doesn't and before I can stop myself I'm tearing open the white cotton fabric from the collar at his neck. Buttons fly and patter to the ground. Fuck, that shirt was expensive.

SIMON

I can't stay calm. This feels too much like magic.

Even though I'm meant to be the Mage's Heir, the truth is I'm a disgraceful mage. Everyone knows it. I am never in control, probably because I've never had a way with words. Not like Baz. He only has to say my name, a single word, to cast all sorts of spells and charms that activate the blood in my veins and becloud my already obscured thoughts. I, on the other hand, can hardly use my damned wand. And when magic finally finds me, it materialises impetuously (and often unintentionally) until I detonate like a grenade, destroying a shit load.

Baz has his magnificent teeth bared (his fangs are relatively small), only inches from my face and there's a sparkle in his eyes. If I didn't know any better- if the past twenty four hours had not occurred- I would say he is about to kill me. Or turn me into a vampire. Same thing, I guess.

But he just tore my shirt open. Christ, he's strong. And I can't stay calm. It feels almost like I am about to go off- I'm sure my hair must be singeing but I can't smell any smoke. There is an electric current rippling to the surface of my skin and I swear it, _I am about to go off_.

Someone knocks on the door, three bangs on the wood behind my head and I practically fly forward into Baz. Holy Mage, that scared me.

Baz has me by the elbows and with a dark eyebrow cocked he can't help but smirk.

"Calm down, Snow. It's not the wraiths coming to get you," he taunts as he pushes me to the side.

I cross my arms over my (mostly naked) chest. "Sod off, Baz." He can be such a prick.

He opens the door, then closes it again and walks over to his bed carrying a tray decked with tonight's dinner and a pitcher of milk.

"Was that your stepmother?"

"Yes."

"So is that your dinner?"

"Yes."

"And you're eating it now?"

"Yes." (I guess he chooses when to have a way with words- now is obviously not one of those times.) Also he is glaring at me like the time he set the Chimera on me in the woods and it backfired. He looks like he wants to kill me. The same way he has been looking at me for the past six (and a bit) years, mind you.

"Why didn't you eat out there with everyone else?" He ate virtually nothing at dinner. I'd thought maybe he just wasn't hungry but he looks pretty ravenous right now.

"None of your business, Snow." He's lying on his front on the bed, facing the headboard, facing away from me. It sounds like he's talking with his mouth full. And he says I have appalling table manners. (I have to remind myself he's on the bed and not at the table.)

"You called me Simon before." I like it when he calls me Simon, but it's a rare occasion and not the sort of thing I can take for granted.

"No, I didn't." There's a moment of silence. The air feels much emptier and quieter now that we're no longer snogging against his bedroom door. I could have sworn there was a hurricane going on a few minutes ago. But it's quiet. And he still hasn't answered my question.

I'm about to push my luck about the eating thing when he speaks- again with his mouth full.

"You hungry, Snow?"

"I could eat."

Baz holds out a fork so I take it and shuffle onto the bed beside him. This gothic piece of furniture is undoubtedly extravagant and it easily fits the both of us.

"You can see my fangs..." He takes another mouthful of turkey with a spoon. "...when I eat."

I take a bite too. The food here is bloody amazing. "I've never noticed them before."

"It makes me uncomfortable to eat in front of people. Is that a problem?" He turns his head to stare me down in question and I can see there's a light bulge around his lips. I turn my body entirely to face him and prop my head up on my hand. God, I want to see those fangs.

"Can I see?" I ask.

A smile twists onto Baz's face and he chuckles to himself before somewhat awkwardly pulling back his lips into a wide grin.

"Baz, they're... they're white." They _are_ white. And lustrous, and larger than I thought they would be (they've grown to almost thrice their normal size). They come to a point so sharp, I feel as if I should be afraid but the thought of Baz biting into me doesn't terrify me in the slightest. Should I be scared that I'm not scared?

"With your superior genius and phenomenal observational skills, I can't imagine why you haven't saved the world yet," he says with a clearly sarcastic expression.

"No, I mean... Baz, they're beautiful."

He takes another bite.

"They're toxic." I watch him chew.

"Are you uncomfortable now? Eating in front of me?"

"No Simon, I am not." He cocks his head to the side, his eyes meeting mine momentarily before quickly sweeping down my bare torso.

"You called me Simon." I smile because I win. This time at least.

BAZ

"Simon..." I say. He grins some more. He's such an idiot sometimes.

I know we've kissed and I know that's all I've wanted to do ever since I met him, but it's Simon. And he doesn't think. About anything. And he certainly hasn't thought about this. So how do I know if it's what he really wants?

My mother abandoned me when I was so young (I know, not intentionally- but if she knew what I was now, she probably wouldn't hesitate to dispose of me immediately) and my father and step-mother mostly try but they wouldn't even pay the ransom for my kidnapping. The family name is far more important than my life, and Grimm-Pitches never pay ransom.

I have never been desired. And I'm aware that I am a monster. But still, I don't know if I could live without having him want me too.

I look away, down at the tray in front of me, and scoop another spoon of food into my mouth. I only chew a few times before speaking again.

"I'm going to go find the numpties tomorrow."

"You can't do that! They kidnapped you. What if the try to hurt you again? What if they try and eat you?"

"Don't be stupid. They only feed on rubble and trash. I mean, I've never heard of a numpty eating a human before..." I don't know much about numpties other than their most predominant desire to eat and stay warm. At least I think they're not people-eaters...

"I'm coming with you then," Simon resolves.

I nod in agreement. "I need to find out who hired the numpties. It's likely to be the same person who sent the vampires into Watford." Bunce's theories are usually correct and it makes sense.

"You mean, the same person who set out to murder your mother?" His eyes are squinted as if he's pained, or maybe he's just using his brain too hard trying to think for once.

"Not necessarily... It wasn't guaranteed that my mother would have even been there, at the nursery. I don't know why the vampires came, I'm not sure what they intended to achieve by attacking a room full of babies, but I don't think it was to murder my mother."

Snow readjusts to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling. A curl flops over his eye and he blows up from the side of his mouth- it flutters but falls back onto his face.

I eat what's left and I can kind of feel it as my fangs slowly retract into wherever they go.

And then, as if he could read my most troubled thoughts, Simon says, "I want this, Baz. I want to be with you. I want to tumble around and kiss and be happy boyfriends." But he doesn't look at me and I'm more comfortable this way. Then he turns his head and looks at me. Hell.

"I almost went mad when you didn't come back to school."

"That's because you thought I was conspiring to murder you in your sleep."

"You wouldn't do that," he challenges.

"Oh, really, Snow? You think I wouldn't hurt you?" I sneer, thinking about all the times I've tried to kill or at least harm him. Things are so twisted.

"Maybe, but not in my sleep. Anathema, Baz." I didn't think of that. He got me there. "And I missed you." I look at him like he's crazy, because I'm quite sure he is. And because I don't know how to respond to that. The thought of him was the only thing that kept me alive when I was stuck in that coffin on the brink of losing it.

Staring at him, I imagine connecting the moles on his cheek to the ones below his left ear and up to the one above his eye. He could be a constellation.

Simon reaches out and I feel his hand teasing my own, spreading my fingers to fit in his. He feels charged with magic, and even though I'm sure he's not trying this time, I can feel some of his power slip into my body.

Suddenly, I'm on top of him, holding his arms to the bed either side of his shocked face which is an inch away from my own. There's a clang joined with a loud shattering, and it takes me a moment to realise that I must have swiped the tray clear off the bed in order to get to Simon. The jug is now broken glass and milk has spilled across the floor. Simon chuckles. I do too.

"Everything all right up there?" I hear Daphne call up the stairs.

"Fine! Fine!" I shout back in reply. I'll remember to **A place for everything, and everything in its place** the mess later. For now, I get back to Simon's lips.

My parents realise my queerness though they prefer to leave it unacknowledged. If only they knew I was hooking up with Simon Snow, my mortal enemy conspiring against the Old Families, under the family roof... well I'm positive they would kill the both of us (I always knew he would be the death of me).

I really hope if Mordelia comes by, she remembers to knock.

SIMON

All of Baz's expensive clothes are on the floor, and the air is thick with magic and our heated exhalations. He currently has his nose nuzzled on my neck and I impulsively breathe his name when I hear a low growl reverberate from his throat. With his cool, hard body pressed against mine, it takes all my concentration to not get distracted by what I can feel happening in his shorts. I guess we're on the same page then, but I've never done this before. Has Baz? I decide to tell myself that he hasn't, partly because I'd be mortified if he knew I was doing something wrong, but mostly because the thought of Baz with someone else this way makes me want to implode and then decimate the entire universe.

He told me that his fangs only come out during feeding, and I'm glad of it because he won't stop biting my lip. We're moving together, Baz exploring every inch of my electrified skin, me holding him closer with my arms strung around his neck.

Then his hands are on my lower back and he pulls on my hips so that they collide with his (now it's seriously impossible to ignore the contents of his lap). Jesus Christ, Baz.

I don't know how long this will last, or what this means for us, or if I'll ever slip into the red and gold pyjama bottoms that he laid out for me earlier on in the evening. But I do know that somehow, me and Baz, here like this, will solve everything.

And every time he sighs my name, he calls me Simon.

I win.


End file.
